Imager

51

By the time I walked across the quadrangle to dinner on Vendrei evening, I was tired, but not overly so. I was just glad the majority of my intensive training had come to an end. I’d received a brief letter from Mother on Mardi, and another one from Seliora just that afternoon. Mother informed me that the three of them would be arriving back in L’Excelsis on Lundi, the second of Agostos, and hoped that I could come on the following Samedi for dinner-a small family birthday dinner, since I had made it more than apparent that her choices of female companions did not appeal to me.

Seliora’s letter was cheerful. She hoped I was well and apologized that dinner would have to be on the fourteenth because her mother had already planned a birthday celebration for Aunt Aegina on the seventh. She also wrote that they all felt that I’d probably be tied up with my family on the seventh. Was that a good judgment . . . or Pharsi foresight? Either way, it worked out better for everyone, and I wrote her back immediately, saying that I understood, but hoping that I could at least call on her on Solayi afternoon-the eighth.

Although Master Dichartyn hadn’t said anything since he’d given me the information sheets dealing with the background on my shooting, I knew I had to start working on that assignment as well, but I had to start on Master Poincaryt’s portrait first. That was why, on Samedi morning, I was up before breakfast and over at my “studio,” making arrangements and checking the light. After hurrying over to the dining hall and eating, I returned to the studio and set up the easel and the chair.

As the first of the eight bells struck, Master Poincaryt stepped through the open door of the small converted workshop. He wore exactly the same gray garb as I did, with the addition of a small silver four-pointed star circled in silver and worn high on the left breast of his waistcoat. The silver circle only touched the star at the points, and the spaces between it and the star were open, showing the gray wool of the waistcoat. His eyes took in everything in single sweep and came to rest on me. Despite the lines carved into his face, his hair was jet black, as were the heavy eyebrows. The squarish shape of his face was offset by a chin that was almost elfin and a glint in his eyes as he moved toward me. “Rhennthyl.”

“Master Poincaryt.”

“You know that you’re the first imager that’s been a painter? That seems strange to me, because imaging is a visual skill, as is painting.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, sir, if there were painters with small imaging abilities who have kept those abilities to themselves.”

He offered a lopsided smile. “Between us, neither would I. Didn’t you, for a time?”

“Yes, sir.” I decided against explaining that it was because I’d thought my abilities so modest. I gestured toward the chair. “If you wouldn’t mind sitting there, sir?” I smiled. “You won’t be portrayed as sitting in anything quite that severe.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t show me in one of those upholstered thrones.” He settled into the chair, then looked at me. “It feels strange to be sitting here.”

“Sir . . . I would think that you deserve a portrait.”

“I don’t, but the head of the Collegium does.” He smiled. “That’s what Dichartyn claims. He says that having portraits of the heads of the Collegium will reinforce tradition.”

That gave me an idea. “Sir, is there anything that might suggest the Collegium?”

“Only the star, and that doesn’t really suggest the Collegium by itself.”

The four-pointed star of Solidar was symbolic, with the points representing the High Holders, the factors, the artisans, and the Collegium. I’d work out something. I always did.

The first thing I did was sketch Master Poincaryt’s face. Rather, I did a series of quick rough sketches in pencil until I had the sense of what would be both accurate and flattering.

Those took almost the entire glass, and there wasn’t much point in asking him to stay longer, because I’d need to think about the entire portrait and set up the design before his presence would be necessary again. “That’s all I’ll need from you now, sir.”

“Could I look at the sketches, Rhennthyl, so I won’t be too shocked?” His voice was gently humorous.

“Certainly, sir. I would ask that you remember that these are very preliminary. They’re as much to enable me to set up a design that’s appropriate.” I brought over the sketches and began to go through them. “Your profile from the left . . . the right . . . full face here . . .”

After he’d looked at the them all, he stood. “The Collegium is fortunate to have you.” He smiled. “If we are to have portraits, they should be accurate. My family may not agree, however.” He paused. “Next Samedi at this time?”

“Yes, sir, if that is convenient.”

After he left, I put away the sketches and the pencils, closed the workroom, and walked back to my quarters. Then I headed out on what would probably be a long Samedi, walking across the quadrangle and then toward the Bridge of Hopes.

I’d thought at first that the easiest part of looking into who had targeted me would be talking to those I knew in the guild, but after the reception I’d gotten from Rogaris and Sagaryn, I didn’t want to start with them. But where could I start? I racked my brain before I remembered the old man who had liked my study-the former portraiture master. I finally recalled his name-or names-and what Master Estafen had said. Everyone called him Grisarius, but he was really Emanus and he had some rooms off the Boulevard D’Imagers.

Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to find him. People did notice odd characters, and Grisarius was anything but usual in appearance. I also could talk to Madame D’Caliostrus or Shienna.

As I crossed East River Road, at just after half past nine, I was glad there was a faint haze and a slight breeze. Even so, the day would be hot, and then some, by midafternoon. I wasn’t quite certain whether to walk up the Boulevard D’Imagers or take a hack to see Madame Caliostrus. I noticed a man talking to the flower seller, the same weathered woman who seemed to be there most every Samedi I’d crossed the bridge. I didn’t look in their direction, except for that first glance, but I did listen.

“. . . don’t some of the imagers buy your blooms?”

“Not many. Most of those who cross here are young, and they don’t have that many coins. They don’t understand the power of flowers.”

“Here comes one,” said the man in a low voice.

“Young sir . . . what about a bouquet or a flower? Just a few coppers . . . just a few . . .”

I couldn’t help thinking that I’d be perverse and buy some. I certainly had enough coppers for a few flowers, and it might be fun to take some to Khethila. Even if she wasn’t home, Nellica would be, and could arrange them-and they’d be a pleasant surprise. I stopped and stepped into the shade of the green and yellow, but slightly faded, umbrella that covered the flower seller’s small cart. “I just might. How much for the tulips-the red and yellow ones?”

“Three coppers a bunch, sir. Just three.”

“I’ll take them.”

As I handed her the coins, she didn’t conceal the surprise on her face-not so much that I had bought them, I thought, but that I hadn’t haggled over the price.

The man who had been talking to her eased away, but not before I caught a better glimpse. He wore a wash-blue workingman’s shirt and yellow-tan leather vest. His features were regular, and his brown hair was well trimmed. His beard was also neatly trimmed, but his eyebrows were bushy. The only distinguishing feature was the fact that the bottom of one ear was slightly shorter than the other, as if the lobe of his left had been removed.

“Thank you.” I inclined my head slightly to her.

Buying the flowers made a decision for me. I’d need to take them to Khethila first. So I hailed a hack. “West lane off of the circle at Plaza D’Este.”

The hacker, one of the few women drivers I’d seen, looked at the tulips, but said nothing beyond, “Plaza D’Este, west lane it is.”

When I finally reached my parents and knocked on the door, Nellica opened it. “Oh . . . Master Rhenn . . . there’s no one here but Mistress Khethila, and she wasn’t expecting anyone.”

I eased my way in, closing the door behind me so that the heat of the day didn’t flood into the foyer. “Just tell her that I’m here. I can’t stay long, but I wanted to see her.”

Before Nellica could even turn, I heard Khethila.

“Nellica? Is someone here?” She caught sight of me and rushed past Nellica. “Rhenn! How are you? How badly were you hurt? Did someone stab you or something?”

I extended the small bouquet. “I brought these for you.”

“For me? You shouldn’t have.”

“You’re the one who’s working while everyone else is holidaying in Kherseilles.”

Khethila took the tulips, then immediately handed them to Nellica “If you’d arrange them . . . in the middle pale green vase?”

“Yes, mistress.” Nellica smiled and headed for the kitchen.

“Tell me what happened.” Khethila motioned toward the parlor. “It’s cooler inside, right now.” She was wearing a severe straight dark blue dress with long sleeves.

“I see you’re dressed for bookkeeping.”

“I just got home.” She dropped into Father’s armchair. “Tell me what happened.”

“Actually, I got shot. I’m fine now. The masters didn’t want me leaving Imagisle until I was completely well. This is the first weekend I’ve been off the isle in almost two months.”

“Mother thinks you’re mad at us, at her, really, because you didn’t like that Zerlenya bitch.”

I couldn’t help laughing. She laughed, too.

“I didn’t know she was a bitch,” I finally said. “I just wasn’t interested. After I got shot, well, I wasn’t in shape to go anywhere for quite a while.”

“She is. At the grammaire, she was the High Holder of all holders, but she’d play sweet for any boy she was interested in, and when any parents or adults were around. None of us could understand why the boys didn’t see through her.”

“She’s attractive enough,” I said.

“The sweetest-scented roses have the sharpest thorns.”

Since Khethila and I agreed about Zerlenya, and there was little more to be said there, I asked, “How are you liking keeping the ledgers?”

“It’s much better than dealing with the people who want to buy the wool. They all want it for less than it cost and can’t understand why it costs what it does. The figures in the ledger, if they’re entered properly, remain the figures in the ledger. I like making sure everything balances.” For an instant, her expression changed.

“You’re far better at that than I’d be, or than Rousel will ever be.”

This time she frowned, if briefly.

“Is Rousel having trouble with his bookkeeping?” That was a guess, but not a wild one.

“I think so.” She shook her head. “I hated telling Father, but some of the accounts didn’t work out. They couldn’t. That’s one reason why he went with Mother. He hadn’t planned to.”

“It’s also why he could leave. He knows you’ll keep the accounts here straight.”

“Old Chelink did fine, but when he died . . .”

“He died? When did that happen?”

“In late Maris . . .”

We talked for a glass or so before I stood and excused myself, telling her that I had some imager tasks to do. I managed to catch a hack two blocks short of the Plaza D’Este and had him drop me off at the corner of North Middle and Bakers’ Lane, about two blocks from Master Caliostrus’s place. There were some people along the lane, about what I’d have expected on a summer afternoon. Several looked at me, then looked away. Most didn’t pay much attention.

Even before I reached the gate to the place where I’d spent nearly ten years, I could hear the clink of stonework and chisels, and the murmurs of workmen.

“Mortar! Up on the top course . . .”

The gate had been removed. Inside the walls, a larger version of Master Caliostrus’s dwelling had mostly risen on the foundations of the old, and this one was entirely of stone. The shed against the rear wall had been demolished, and there was no sign of the garden.

I eased toward the gray-bearded man in charge of the masons. “Pardon me.”

He turned, his mouth open, as if to upbraid me-until he took in the gray. “Imager . . . what can I do for you?”

“I was looking for Madame D’Caliostrus . . .” I offered. “I knew her husband had died.”

“You won’t find her here. She sold the place to Master Elphens . . .”

Elphens had made master? Even as a representational artist? I wanted to shudder and scream at the same time. My study had been far superior to his mist-covered gardens with all the wrong lighting, and he was now a master-and I hadn’t been able to get a journeyman’s position. And where had he gotten the coin to purchase the place, let alone rebuild such a dwelling?

“. . . Even with all the damage, I hear, she didn’t do badly. Plot this large is hard to come by here in the Martradon district.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“Word is that she went back to where her parents came from.” He frowned. “Little place near Rivages, don’t recall the name. She got some money from an annuity or something from a patron of Caliostrus. She said there was no reason to stay here and plenty to leave.”

“You wouldn’t know anyone who might be able to tell me where she is now?”

“Might be someone at the Portraiture Guild. I don’t know anyone.”

“I see. Thank you.” I nodded and departed.

Because it was more than a little warm, I used more of my coin to take another hack, this one down to the Guild Square. From there I could walk down the Boulevard D’Imagers and make my inquiries. I had the hacker drop me on the east side of the square. As always in late summer, the sidewalks were less crowded than earlier or later in the year, partly because of the heat, and partly because those who could left L’Excelsis in the hottest weeks of the year.

After less than twenty yards, my forehead and shirt were damp, and I had the feeling that someone was looking at me. I turned as if to study the display items in the silversmith’s window, so that I could look at those around me, but I couldn’t see anyone clearly looking at me, or anyone that I knew. That didn’t mean someone wasn’t looking at me, only that I wasn’t skilled enough to pick them out.

I continued on, walking slowly toward Lapinina, coming abreast of the coppersmith’s, except that his shutters were closed. He was on holiday. As I passed the bistro, I glanced in through an open window. There were people at only two tables, and I didn’t know any of them. The cooper’s place was open, but there was no one in I could see there.

I crossed Sudroad and walked back toward the boulevard, slowly, looking down the two lanes I passed to see if there were any hidden boardinghouses or the like. I kept getting the feeling that someone was staring at me, but whenever I glanced around, I couldn’t detect who it might be-or whether it was just my imagination.

There was another bistro a block west of the square on the Boulevard D’Imagers. I knew some of the older artists went there, although I never had. The name on the signboard was Axotol. I had no idea what that meant, but I stepped in under the light green awning toward a serving girl.

She looked at me, her eyes wide. I could almost feel the fear. It had to be the imager uniform, because I’d never seen her before. “Yes . . . ah . . . sir?”

“I’m looking for an artist, white-haired, with a goatee. He’s usually called Grisarius.”

The girl just stared at me blankly, as if frozen.

An older woman hurried over. “Might I help you, sir?”

“An artist named Grisarius, or Emanus . . . white-haired with a goatee. I’m looking for him. He hasn’t done anything wrong, but he might know something.”

“He’s sometimes here. Not now. You might try Reynardyl, three blocks toward the river.”

“Do you know where he lives? It’s supposedly close by.”

“I couldn’t say. He doesn’t talk much.”

“Thank you.” I offered a smile.

As I stepped back out into the heat, I could hear the older woman talking to the younger.

“. . . won’t do anything to you here. Best to answer their questions and get them out. They stay, and people won’t come in. That’ll get Rastafyr in a black mood faster ’n any imager . . .”

Reynardyl was a long and hot three-block walk from Axotol, and I almost missed it, because it really wasn’t on the boulevard but down an unmarked lane off the main walk, with a signboard so faded that I couldn’t read it until I was almost under it. Although the place was twice the size of Lapinina, there was no one inside except a gray-haired server.

“Anywhere you want.” Her smile was tired.

“I’m looking for someone, an older artist named Grisarius. He has a white goatee-”

“He hasn’t been in today . . . probably won’t be. It’s the end of the month.”

“Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“You might find him in the public garden, you know, the one south of the Guild Square . . . lot of older types there.”

I had my doubts, but it was worth a try. “Thank you.” I paused. “If I don’t, I understand he has rooms near here. Do you know where they might be?”

She shook her head.

I waited a moment, still looking at her.

“Well . . . sir, I can’t say as I know, but he did mention going to Mama Lazara’s once.”

“Is that a boardinghouse?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Not the street, but it’s somewhere south of Marchand not too far west of Sudroad. That’s what Makos told me.”

“Thank you.” I gave her a pair of coppers and headed out the door. Since I knew where the public garden was, and I didn’t know exactly where Mama Lazara’s boardinghouse was, I headed back up the boulevard toward the square.

It was too short a distance to take a hack, and there were few around, and too long for the walk to be comfortable under the now-sweltering afternoon sun. I wished I’d stopped for something to drink, but I marched onward. When I reached the public gardens, I strolled along every pathway, checking all the benches. There were perhaps fifty people there, and outside of two women with infants talking to each other, I don’t think that anyone else in the gardens was under thirty, and not a one bore the slightest resemblance to Grisarius. As I reached the north gates, where I had begun, I again had the feeling of being watched.

Since Grisarius wasn’t in the public garden, and since I felt the observer was on the boulevard somewhere, I turned and walked back through the gardens to the south gate. From there, I walked three blocks south to Marchand, crossed it, and came to the next street, much narrower and meaner. The faded letters on the corner wall read LEZENBLY. There was no boardinghouse or pension anywhere among the older and moderately well-kept stone dwellings situated on the two blocks that led north to Sudroad. So I retraced my steps and headed back southward on Lezenbly. At the end of the first block on Lezenbly south of where I’d started, I saw a white-haired figure sitting on a shaded side porch. So I opened the gate and walked around to the side.

“Grisarius? Or should I call you Emanus?”

The older man jerked in the chair. I hadn’t realized that he hadn’t been reading, but dozing, still holding the book. He just watched as I took the stone steps and then pulled up a straight-backed chair across from him. My feet ached, and I was more than a little hot.

The old man squinted at me. “Imager. Ought to know you, shouldn’t I?”

“Rhennthyl. I was a journeyman for Caliostrus before I became an imager. I did a study in the journeyman competition in Ianus that you liked. A chessboard.”

He frowned, then nodded slowly. “You’re the one.”

That suggested something. “Has someone been asking about me?”

“Not as such. Staela-the bitch at Lapinina-she was saying that some imager had stopped by a month or so ago, said he’d been an artist, but he scared off a bunch of people.”

“That was me.”

Grisarius nodded again.

“I went to see Madame D’Caliostrus. She’d sold the place and left. There was something about an annuity. The mason working on the walls said Elphens had bought it.”

“Ah, yes . . . young Elphens . . .”

“How could he afford to purchase it? How did he make master so quickly?”

A crooked smile appeared above the wispy goatee. “Might have to do with his father.”

“Who is his father?”

“A High Holder from Tilbora . . . Tillak or some such.”

“A son on the back side of the blanket?”

“Something like that.”

I shook my head. That figured. “That must have brought the guild a few golds.”

“The masters who voted on him, anyway.” Emanus snorted.

“I never knew Caliostrus had a patron who would have purchased an annuity on his life.”

“He probably didn’t. That’s always what they say when someone makes a settlement.”

“But who . . . why?”

“Rumor was that the fire wasn’t natural-like.” The old artisan shrugged. “It could be anyone. For any reason. That son of his was trouble all the way round. Could be that the fire was meant for Ostrius, and the settlement was because Caliostrus got caught accidentally. Or it could be that it was just easier to send the widow packing so that questions didn’t get asked. You’re young, for an imager. You’ll see.”

“You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you?” I hoped he’d say more.

“There’s much to be seen, if you only look. Most people don’t see things that are right before them because it goes against what they believe or what they want to believe.”

“You know that I could never find a master to take me on as a journeyman.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Emanus offered a twisted smile. “I don’t think it happened that way, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if someone went after Caliostrus because you’d have made master if he’d lived, and half the portraiture masters in L’Excelsis don’t have your talent.”

“Were you forced out of the guild?”

“Let’s just say that it was better that I let it happen. Didn’t have much choice, but I got to watch the mess Estafen and Reayalt made when they took over.”

“You were the guildmaster?”

He nodded. “I prided myself on being fair. Most people don’t like that, and when they found out a few things . . . Like I said, it was better that I let them trump up a scandal than what might have happened.” There was a wry smile. “What might have happened remains my business, and I can at least take consolation that I wasn’t the cause of anyone getting hurt.”

“Except yourself, sir.”

“That’s a choice we sometimes have to make.” He shook his head. “That was a long time ago, and there’s nothing that anyone can do now.”

It might have been my thinking about Johanyr and the tactics he’d used, but I couldn’t help asking, “Was it someone in your family you had to protect?”

“Why would you ask that, young Rhennthyl?”

“I watched a High Holder’s son do something like that not too long ago.”

“What did you do?”

“Blinded him enough so that he’ll never image again.”

“And you’re still alive?”

“So far. I’ve been shot once.”

Emanus looked at me, then leaned back in the chair. “Why did you seek me?”

“I thought you might be able to tell me if someone was hiring bravos to go after me, or if I needed to look elsewhere.”

“You seem to think I know more than I do.”

“You’ve seen a great deal, and far more than I have.”

“You flatter me with my own words.” Emanus laughed. “Estafen, Reayalt, and Jacquerl wouldn’t go after you, not once you became an imager. Caliostrus’s and Ostrius’s deaths benefited them, and they’d not wish to have any cloud drawn to them.”

I frowned, but waited.

“Caliostrus had a brother. Thelal. He was a tilesetter, journeyman. Liked the plonk too much. Caliostrus gave him silvers. Madame Caliostrus didn’t like it. If I had to wager, I’d say Thelal was involved. Either him or that High Holder.” He frowned. “High Holder’s not likely. Most High Holders would make you suffer for years.”

“Do you know where I might find Thelal?”

“From what I’ve heard, I doubt Thelal knows where he’ll find himself tonight.”

After that, while Emanus was pleasant enough, I didn’t learn much more, and I began to have the feeling that someone was watching us. So, finally, I stood. “Thank you. I appreciate your talking to me.”

“Best of fortune.” His face quirked into a strange smile. “You might remember that truth has little to do with the acts and decisions of most folks.”

Rather than leave by the front gate, I went down the porch steps and then hurried to the alleyway behind the pension, making my way eastward. I was back on Marchand, almost to Sudroad, when I caught sight of a man almost a block behind me. I couldn’t make him out clearly, because he was on the shadowed side of the street. I turned northward on Sudroad toward the Guild Square, and kept checking. He was still following, holding to the shadows, but I could make out that he wore a light-colored vest. I stopped to look at a crystal decanter in the glassblower’s window. He halted to talk to a man selling kerchiefs and straw hats.

There had to be some way to separate him from the Samedi crowds around the Guild Square. I passed one alleyway, but it was a dead end. The second one ran clear through, if at an angle, to Carolis, and the entire alleyway was cloaked in shadow. I ducked into the alleyway, then hurried down the north side. I didn’t hide behind the first pile of broken crates, because that was obvious, but instead slipped into a niche where the rear walls of two buildings joined. Once there, I created a brownish shadow shield that matched the painted plaster walls.

Then I waited in the shadows behind the shield that I had imaged, as the man peered this way and that. I also raised shields against a bullet or a blade, but since the bravo-or possible assassin-hadn’t done anything but follow me, I really couldn’t do much more. Not yet. He kept moving and peering, but before long walked past me. As he passed, I got a good look at him. He was the same man in the yellowish tan vest and wash-blue shirt who had been talking to the flower seller, making small talk while he’d been waiting for me to leave Imagisle. He finally vanished into the orangish late-afternoon sunlight at the end of the alley.

Recalling the conversation that had drawn me to the flower seller, I did not follow him, but retraced my steps, still holding shields. I decided against staying or eating in L’Excelsis since I had no idea who had been following me, or why, and not when I really didn’t know what to do next. I wanted to talk to Master Reayalt and Master Estafen, but not until I talked to Master Dichartyn.

On the way back to Imagisle, I looked for the flower seller, thinking she might be able to tell me more about the man who had been tracking me, but the cart, the green and yellow umbrella, and the flower seller had all left. By the time I reached my quarters, I was tired, and my feet were sore . . . and I wasn’t sure that I knew that much more than when I’d left that morning.